


Little Harsh Nothing

by LittleHarshNothing



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Free-Style, Love, Original Character(s), Original work - Freeform, Power Dynamic, Sacrifice, Street Dance, dance, tough love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:11:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7472247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleHarshNothing/pseuds/LittleHarshNothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has their bad days. Their off-beat moments. For Tatiana, that day had stretched into her life and the moment had become her moniker. Growing up as the discard of a court ordered adoption to Donnie "The-Knuckles", she had chosen to embrace her rough edges. But even the very best at hiding their emotions need to let it out and Tay had plenty to share. Having grown up with a man that spoke only to hear himself be right, the only way she knew how to express herself was through the physical, and the best way she had found to do that without broken bone and another cindered bridge was to dance. She wanted so much to share it with someone, for someone to understand. So she posts her videos, being careful to hide every hard edge as best she can. Tay never hoped that someone would actually listen.</p>
<p>Damon is head dancer and founder at Rash Studios. World-famous for his eclectic choreography, he has made a name for himself by only hiring the best and newest. Demanding, formidable, and-some would say-neurotic, Damon has been searching for an answer to a question that has escaped him for 24 years. Until he sees a video that will break his understanding of what he's truly searching for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just started this. Be aware, it is an extremely stereotypical romance story. Feedback is appreciated.

1  
“What the fuck…” Alex muttered as he watched the video again. Loop it over, s’what Damon always said. Double takes are what you’re looking for. He hit rewind and stared harder as the video hit again. The flow but then the jolts. There was uncontrolled something there and a shimmer from her movements that he hadn’t seen in a dancer in years. Damon would want this. He’d want her.

Damon was sitting across the studio, watching another practice of another dancer who had too much training and not enough personality. What was it, the stale movements. The same ‘don’t fuck with me’ expression. No changes. No extremes. Always in the safe zone. And this was supposed to be a street dancer?

He glanced toward Alex at the exclamation. “Found one.” His best friend of 20 years and now, self-appointed assistant producer, breathed back at him.   
He got up at the phrase. They’d been searching for months. He wouldn’t admit that he really needed to see something soon, because he was starting to get bored. Boredom had not led to good things for him in the past. 

“What form.” he stated as he moved across the room. The dancers on his screen kept gyrating the stale movements. As he drew closer to where Alex sat at his desktop, Alex began the breakdown. 

“New, definitely free-form. Underground, buried deep. Been”-he typed and clicked quickly, finding a screen for the users’ YouTube profile-“….2 years. Loner. Free-form but, I don’t know you just gotta see this.” As soon as Damon got close enough, he understood what Alex meant. He couldn’t hear the music as Alex had the headset, but it almost didn’t matter. The screen showed electric, acrid, smoking rage. She felt it all. She let you feel it all. She needed this as much as you needed it. He concentrated as she dropped to the ground instead of moving left like he knew all of the trained ones would. The hit was hard, some would say sloppy but he saw the necessity in it. She showed you the feeling. She hit bottom hard. So did you. Didn’t anyone?

Alex looked up at Damon as he unplugged the headset to let him hear the song. Not pop, but a dark one, Feral Love. Good, hadn’t ever seen someone do a dance cover for that one. Damon was transfixed. Alex saw the look he’d been waiting for forever. Thank God. His fingers cramped to start searching. It’d been ages since they’d gotten anything remotely good. Some would say they had the best already, but that’s why Damon ruled the free-style world. He needed new all the time. Every day he had to have something fresh. If he didn’t he got bored. And Damon did not do bored well. 

Alex should know, he’d seen his best friend go through those moments. He liked to call them his Personal Shit Shows. 

This was new though, Damon’s focus wasn’t on the regular qualities. He was watching and feeling it. So had he, but it was a rare occasion to see Damon so transfixed. Alex grew a grin as he waited for the words to come.

“Get a contract. We’re getting her.” Damon said as he clicked on the next video.

“YES.” Alex did a quick spin around and catch toward the second desktop to start digging for the mystery dancer. She had covered pretty well. No face, not hair, entire torso covered, so tracking through tattoos was a no-go. But he had better ways.

First, the load and lock. Just blast the private message system with requests. He pulled up a contract and began his work.


	2. Scuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, stereotypical romance warning. Feedback appreciated.

2  
Breath. 

She gasped out an ugly grunt instead. It was close in her throat. In her lungs, the air did nothing to stop the scream building up, choking her. 

Another kick let out a sick cracking from her torso. There goes her rib. Again.

Breath.

She wished she knew how. How do you breath? How do those glossy people just take it in? All of that room to move, to be free. How do they take it?

The breathing became more hitched and a gurgle left her lips. But no tears stung her eyes because he was still there and he was waiting for that. It’d been years since he’d gotten that satisfaction from her. 

He straightened, brushing his shirt down, as though he had just finished a messy meal. “Don’t forget to file the paperwork this time. I don’t want another call from the services again.”

She couldn’t speak; the sound was clogged in her lungs between the broken rib and the rage choking her thoughts. But that didn’t matter to Donnie. See Donnie was one of those things that could dole out the shit but couldn’t take it themselves. He was the customer that berated the hapless worker bee because they didn’t think far enough ahead to realize they could do nothing. He took pleasure in the small torture of average people and grew smaller still with every dose. She knew that but still couldn’t get it out. She just dropped her head lower.

Breath. Don’t forget to breath. It’s important. She had to remind herself. She tried slowly lifting her upper body to a decent position. The pressure on her rib from using her core muscles hurt but she gritted and kept moving. No point prolonging the pathetic image of her on the floor.

She knelt on the ground, unable to get up. Yet. Rage. Rage on. Rage on. Breath.

Her mantra burned her. It burned more than the sting of tears and the harsh electricity of cracked rib. She hissed out a breath getting to her feet.

She needed it now. The hit would let the choking abate. Let her taste some of that air at last. She took a few steps, getting adjusted to the discomfort. Heading to her attic room, she grabbed a pile of white cotton from the one shelf in the room. Unraveling the old sheet she had used as an impromptu wrap for cracked rib #2, she became lightheaded. Tossing her t-shirt to the side, she began wrapping her torso, the movements jolting and slow. She finished by tucking the corner tightly under her left breast. Put the shirt back on. Her arms locked with her shirt suffocating her, half on, half off. The pain had stopped her again. Rage. Rage on. Rage on. Breath.

She needed the hit. She’d stopped 3 times. Too many. Too many times. She clumsily grabbed the red ball cap from the doorknob and headed to her window. Opening the latch, she swallowed in preparation for lifting her legs over the ledge. Rage.

Her saliva became metallic but her feet hit the roof. She moved on to the metal fire escape, the rusted hinge giving her trouble as always. It reminded her of Donnie and that reminded her to move.


	3. Twist and Shout

“Use the muscle when you jump!” Damon sighed in frustration as the second candidate flailed into the air and landed with a hard sound. “You’re gonna wind up spraining something. If you don’t know how to do it, learn before coming to an audition.” The wiry candidate straitened his blouse but didn’t say anything.

The others in the room had quieted down; instructors looked on with pinched faces. They all knew this was a less-than successful day. Not a single candidate had brought in the energy, the fresh, the new. Just some bland re-done YouTube dancers that had learned routines but not how to dance in the moment. It’s like they tried to formulate dance. And it infuriated Damon.

“Leave.” The cold word rattled hard across the massive wood and concrete training room. Everyone continued standing still, holding their breaths at this harsh decision, in shock that it had been said. Reese, an instructor with sleek black hair and a seemingly close relationship to Damon stepped forward, stretching out her hand to his arm. “Damon, you’ve been working them so hard. They just started warming up and it could be months before we can get some of these candidates in h-“ Damon cut her off without a glance, “It’s been two hours and I have one candidate that can’t perform a proper pirouette and another that can’t follow a simple routine after it’s been shown five times. Does it seem like these will be the candidates ready to take on something completely new to you? And in less than three months? I will not repeat myself. Leave.”

Reese pulled back her hand and turned back to the room in a fluid motion, masking the rejection. Her face had an embarrassed caste to it, a flush covering her pale skin. “Alright everyone, let’s do final stretches..”

She continued doling out instructions in the background as Damon moved toward the large garage entrance, having spotted Alex pulling up in-was that his Mercedes?-and screeching to a halt not having parked and running toward him. “What the hell..” was all he had time to mutter for before Alex was upon him, puffing out as he threw an arm around him to stop his momentum and began jabbering indistinctly. 

“It’s her I found her it was like RIGHT there and I can’t IT’S SO FRUSTRATING RIGHT THERE and the freaking algorithm didn’t pick up shit, that damn thing can’t believe I didn’t know sooner and-“ he gulped in some air as Damon let him hang off in annoyance. As he inhaled in an almost comical fashion, Damon put his hand on his face and pushed. 

Before Alex had a chance to resist Damon pushed on his face again. “STOP. Breath you idiot. What the hell are you doing in my car, running, and what the fuck are you saying?” Alex stopped trying to mumble from behind the hand covering his nose, instead stepping away, “I SAID I FOUND HER. And I couldn’t find my car keys. Again. So I just grabbed one of yours. Not like you to get so touchy about the Mary’s.” They had colloquially decided to dub all six of Damon’s Mercedes Mary because Damon did not care for naming inanimate objects individually, plus it was just easy. Damon liked easy, despite what the group of dejected candidates might think as they began filing by. 

Some threw curious looks at the odd spectacle as Alex began rambling again. Even Reese began stepping forward mid-order but was distracted when a candidate pulled her aside to talk. Alex took notice of her then and continued his stream of words, “why is she always running these events? It’s weird.” 

Damon wasn’t listening, and he pushed his friend in the back to get him moving toward the entrance. “Let’s go, this isn’t important. What you found is.” 

Alex was already moving ahead, toward the open driver door. Damon had moved toward the passenger side with his door opening, “Take me to her.” Alex stopped with his hand on the top of the car, mid-swing into the seat. “Uh. About that. So when I said I found her, it was more in the sense of like, a general idea of where she was. And I still haven’t gotten any response. And she also, uh, disappeared?”

On the last word he ducked quickly into the car and closed the door. Damon just closed his eyes. Once in the car with Alex he looked over at his friend. “So what do we have, exactly? Anything that should have actually gotten you so hyped up you ran?” It was no great secret to anyone in the industry that while Damon may have been fit for the Olympics, Alex, his business partner and best friend, rarely moved. Well, he moved but he preferred to do it mechanically. On four wheels. At top speeds.

“Hold on now, yes, calm yourself, I do have a” he flourished his hand to the clutch, “name!” and he pressed on the gas as they roared away.


End file.
